


Shield and Spear Paradox

by idiotbrothers



Category: Queer as Folk (US)
Genre: M/M, One-Sided Attraction, Pining, Pre-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-30
Updated: 2018-09-30
Packaged: 2019-07-20 12:39:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,072
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16137422
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/idiotbrothers/pseuds/idiotbrothers
Summary: A look at Michael and Brian's relationship pre-series. Michael is completely smitten, and Brian is... Brian.Inspired by that moment in late season 5 when the boys are reminiscing about their first time going to Babylon, and leather pants, and ugly floral shirts.





	Shield and Spear Paradox

“I don’t have a fuckin’ clue how I should act,” Michael said nervously, fiddling with the waistband of his skintight pants for the millionth time in the past half hour.

“What if everyone thinks I’m lame? I look stupid in these pants, don’t I. I knew I shouldn’t have let you talk me into getting them.”

Brian spun Michael around, both hands on his shoulders. He looked at him intently. “You look _hot_ in those pants. I’d fuck you.” 

Michael forced a laugh, his voice an octave too high. Brian didn’t seem to notice, tousling Michael’s gel-spiked hair and kissing his forehead. “And you should act like yourself. Guys will be throwing themselves at you before you know it.” 

“That is absolute bullshit if I’ve ever heard it.” 

Brian gave him a quick kiss to the corner of his mouth. “Don’t be so insecure, Mikey. _I’m_ all over you, aren’t I?” He grabbed Michael’s ass demonstrably, and Michael jumped, a bolt of lust going straight to his dick. 

_God fucking dammit, not in these pants, Jesus Christ._

Michael quickly untucked his shirt, the fabric mercifully covering his groin. Thank _god_ most of his shirts were a bit oversized on him. “I feel less self-conscious like this,” he explained weakly. He could feel himself blushing bright red.

Brian just smiled at him, flicking him on the nose like he was a particularly adorable kitten, or something equally pathetic. “You’re pathetic,” Brian said, predictably.

“And you’re an asshole,” Michael answered instinctively, ducking his head as he willed his boner away. It was a challenge with Brian standing right in front of him, fucking irresistible in that garish floral shirt only he could pull off, ever-present leather jacket hugging his frame and subtle hints of cologne and aftershave coming off him when he moved. Michael wanted to keep him here where nobody else could see, wanted to monopolize Brian’s attention for as long as he could, his heart starting to beat faster at the idea of all those hungry eyes and hands inevitably focused on him when they got to Babylon.

_Selfish. Stupid._

“Mikey, you okay?” 

“I’m fine. Let’s go.” 

* * *

 

Brian had broken away from him almost as soon as they’d stepped onto the dance floor, giving Michael a wink right before he disappeared into the gyrating crowd. Michael smothered the panic that had started to spread through him shortly thereafter with inane self-affirmations and the thought that there were so many people in the place that he was pretty much invisible. That comforting notion was shattered when a stranger swayed right up to him.

“Nice pants,” the guy said. He was shirtless, bulging muscles defined by the swirling multi-colored lights sweeping over the mass of patrons. Michael looked around to make sure the guy was actually talking to him. “Yeah, I’m talking to you.”

Michael cleared his throat. “Um. Thanks?” His voice came out in a hoarse whisper.

Muscle Man bent down so that his mouth was at Michael’s ear. “You wanna come to the back room with me?”

Michael shuddered. “What’s in... the back room?” He wasn’t sure he wanted to know.

“I’ll show you,” Muscle Man said, grinning lecherously, his hand alighting just above Michael’s cock before he could think. Michael jerked away immediately. “I’mgoodthanks,” he blurted, somewhat hysterically, and got away as fast as he could, squeezing past inebriated dancers with a smattering of _I’m sorry_ ‘s and _Excuse me_ ‘s.

He needed to find Brian.

The ear-splitting music was burrowing into his brain, and that combined with the mass of bodies surrounding him and the supremely uncomfortable sensation of his leather pants chafing against his upper thighs, was making him feel kind of dizzy, the panic from earlier returning. His heart was pounding like crazy.

“Hey,” Michael gasped, catching the arm of an innocent-looking twink, who blinked at him in surprise. “Do I know you?” He asked.

“No,” Michael shouted to be heard over the noise, “Sorry, I’m just wondering, is there somewhere quieter in here?” He needed to calm himself the fuck down, but he wasn’t quite ready to desert the club just yet. Not without Brian.

“Yeah,” the guy said, grinning and pointing over Michael’s shoulder. Michael turned to see a dark doorway to another room, relief coursing through him as soon as he laid eyes on it. He turned back to thank the twink, but he was gone, engulfed by the crowd.

It was already much quieter just inside the door of the other room. Wanting to get away from the music, Michael walked down a short hallway that led to an entryway shrouded by a chain curtain, fluorescent blue light emanating from within. Curiosity getting the better of him, Michael stepped through into a completely different scene from the one on the dance floor. It was completely dark, aside from the atmospheric blue lighting, and the quiet amplified the sounds of moaning, and clothes being shed, and flesh moving against flesh. Michael swallowed, averting his eyes from the pair of men directly across from him, both of them completely naked and doing unspeakable things to each other.

_What the fuck am I doing here?_

Disoriented by the darkness, he turned to his left before remembering that he wanted to go back the way he came. He started to do just that when his eyes fully adjusted and he recognized the thatch of light brown hair on one of the guys in the corner. Some masochistic impulse compelled him to take a few steps closer.

Sure enough, it was Brian, his shirt hanging open and his head thrown back, the long line of his neck exposed as some lithe stranger’s head bobbed over his dick. Brian’s mouth moved wordlessly, his eyes shut as he dug his fingers into the guy’s scalp.

Michael’s stomach turned, his thoughts completely fizzling out as he stared at them, nausea and shock surging though him. Sure, he’d been jealous before, of all the attention Brian got, of how he could just nod at some hot waiter or cashier or orthodontist and they’d all give him the same appraising look in return, the one that promised, _I’ll see_ you _later_. But those encounters were nothing compared to actually witnessing one of his hookups firsthand, to seeing Brian like _this_ , coming apart with a stranger’s mouth on him.

Michael pressed a hand to his stomach in a pitiful attempt to steady it, deciding it was about fucking time he went home. No sooner did he think it than Brian’s eyes fluttered open, catching Michael’s after only a second or two. Michael suddenly felt very ashamed and embarrassed, as if he’d been caught doing something unsavory. He felt a bit like a voyeur. He thought once again that he should leave, but was distracted when Brian smiled at him, his eyes half-lidded. He pulled the guy off his cock and he surged up to kiss him. Brian returned it fervently, one hand gripping the guy’s bare ass as their mouths moved together. Michael had seen enough.

He stumbled out of the room and back through the short hallway into the main room, the cacophony on the dance floor almost a welcome reprieve from the pain lancing through his heart. There was no way in hell he could enjoy himself like this. With much nudging and apologizing, he made it outside, the cool night air bringing him a small measure of relief. He walked for a bit until he was far enough away from most of the loiterers outside the club entrance, and then he leaned against the wall to catch his breath, his ears ringing and his mouth dry.

“Rough night, baby?” A stranger’s gravelly voice spoke up from behind him before he’d even stopped shaking, and he _really_ wasn’t in the mood for this.

“Fuck off,” Michael barked.

“What’d you say to me?” A rough hand gripped his arm, and he cringed, trying and failing to pull away.

“He said _fuck off_ ,” Brian’s voice cut in out of nowhere, and Michael looked up to see him yank the creepy older man’s hand away, planting a palm squarely on his chest and giving him a forceful shove. “Do as he says, or I’ll break your motherfucking fingers,” Brian said, grimly serious.

The guy scowled at them, muttered an expletive, and slunk away. For a moment, Michael was buoyantly happy to see Brian, his beautiful face illuminated by the moon overhead, brow creased with concern as he dragged Michael into a one-armed hug.

“You okay?”

Brian was bare-chested, his unbuttoned shirt hanging off him obscenely, leather jacket deserted somewhere inside. He didn’t smell like Brian, like expensive cologne and aftershave and cigarette smoke. He smelled overpoweringly of semen and sweat.

Michael pulled away from him abruptly and took a second to say, “Go back inside, you’ll get sick,” before he started to walk away from him, fuming inwardly.

“Hey, what’s wrong? Did something happen back there?” 

Michael stopped in his tracks, turned to fix Brian with a disbelieving glare. “Are you fuckin’ kidding me? Did something _happen_?” 

Brian shrugged, waited for a clear answer. 

Michael once again became aware of the waistband of his pants digging into his skin, reached under the hem of his shirt to pull at the band for some temporary relief. His thoughts had become a primordial soup of anger and unhappiness. All he wanted in that moment was to go back to his apartment, tear off his leather pants and throw them right in the garbage, and curl up on his bed with a volume of Captain Astro. 

“You got something to tell me, Mikey?”

A breeze rifled through Brian’s hair and blew his shirt further open, exposing more of his chest. It hurt to look at him. A couple of drunk assholes who staggered past them lobbed sexually explicit jeers at Brian, who didn’t even glance at them out of his periphery, his expression as coolly neutral as ever.

“For fuck’s sake,” Michael bit out, stepping closer to Brian and starting to button up his shirt for him. “C’mon, cover yourself up. Aren’t you _freezing_?”

Brian clasped one of Michael’s hands with his own, stopping him. “I’m more concerned with what’s bothering you. You practically ran out of there like your pants were on fire.” 

“Don’t remind me,” Michael muttered, wincing and readjusting his pants. 

“Talk to me,” Brian said softly, reaching out to tug on Michael’s earlobe with his free hand. He was so goddamn convincing when he wanted to be. Michael pulled his hand out of Brian’s loose grip, scratched at his cheek sheepishly. 

“I just. That back room... “ 

Brian’s face changed at the mention of it, a hint of a smile, something dark flickering in his eyes. 

Michael shivered. “You know what, forget it. It’s not my scene, is all. I’m going home.” 

He turned to go, only for Brian to grab him by the hem of his shirt. Michael was oddly afraid for a split second, unsure of what he’d do next, but then Brian said, “C’mon, it’s no fun without you,” and Michael let out a breath he didn’t know he’d held. “Yeah, right,” he said. “From where I was standing, you looked like you were having shitloads of fun without me. You ditched me right when we got here.” Michael’s voice was more dejected than accusatory, which he resented. He sounded like a whiny, tagalong little brother.

Brian pulled on Michael’s arm, dragging him back towards the club entrance. 

“What are you doing?” Michael asked, though both he and Brian knew he’d follow Brian at the slightest indication that he wanted him to. 

“Showing you how to loosen up.” 

Brian released Michael’s arm and took his hand instead, leading him back inside and through the crowd of sweaty bodies, moisture springing up between their clasped palms. Michael struggled to keep up with Brian’s quick pace, worried that someone would knock into him and separate him from Brian. He tightened his grip on Brian’s hand and kept his eyes fixed on his broad back until they stopped at an unoccupied LED platform.

“Get up,” Brian urged him, and Michael reluctantly did as he asked, heaving himself onto the platform and waiting for Brian to join him. When he did, Brian tugged at the collar of Michael’s jacket, leaning in close to utter his next instruction in Michael’s ear. “Take this off.” 

“Bossy,” Michael said under his breath. He shrugged his jacket off anyway, letting it fall to the edge of the platform. “And this,” Brian said, rucking up the fabric of Michael’s thin shirt with one hand. Michael stared, his heart skipping a beat. “What? Why?” 

Brian smiled at him. “You trust me, don’t you?” 

Michael swallowed. He pulled his shirt over his head obediently, noticing after he did that Brian had let his own shirt fall the rest of the way off. 

“There,” Brian said decisively, touching Michael’s bare collarbone. He started swaying along to the blaring music, his eyes falling shut, bare skin glistening in the obnoxiously bright lighting. Michael just looked at him for a moment, drinking in the sight of him, his gorgeous, impulse-driven, stubbornly unapologetic best friend. Heart in his mouth, Michael matched his movements, reaching up slowly to place his hands on either side of Brian’s neck, gazing up at his blissed-out face as they danced together. Brian opened his eyes briefly to find Michael’s mouth, leaning down to give him a kiss. Michael returned it a little too eagerly, licking into Brian’s mouth and feeling a coil of heat unfold in his stomach when Brian dug his nails into the base of Michael’s spine, their bare chests pressed together.

Brian broke the kiss and ran a hand over Michael’s hair. “Everyone’s staring at you,” he said in a low voice, his other hand traveling from the divot of Michael’s spine to the curve of his ass.

Michael didn’t even look away to corroborate Brian’s claim, his eyes fixed on Brian’s. “Unlikely,” he said, “When you’re here. There’s no comparison.”

Brian brushed a finger over the nape of Michael’s neck, their mouths inches apart. “You should see yourself,” he told Michael. “You’re one of the most fuckable guys in the place.” Michael felt a twinge of something unidentifiable. _But_ you _won’t fuck me._  

“So,” Brian said, shifting gears with a self-satisfied smile, “You having fun yet?” 

Michael emitted a breathy little laugh and hid his face in Brian’s chest, wrapping his arms around his torso. “Yeah,” he said quietly, inaudible over the music. 

* * *

 

They took a cab to Michael’s apartment later that night, both drunk off their asses, hanging off each other as they stumbled down the hallway. Michael fiddled with the keys for a good ten minutes before Brian snatched them out of his hand and clumsily unlocked the door himself, pushing Michael inside.

“Shhhh,” Michael hissed at Brian, not wanting to wake his roommate at such an ungodly hour.

“I’m being quiet,” Brian said in a voice that was anything but. He tripped over a pair of sneakers in the doorway and slammed his elbow against the wall when he attempted to catch his balance. “God _fuckin’_ dammit,” Brian exclaimed loudly, earning himself another round of insistent shushing from Michael, who started giggling despite himself.

“ ‘s not funny,” Brian grumbled, smacking him on the arm. “Just gonna laugh at me when I’m _wounded_ , Michael?” 

“Don’t be a baby,” Michael whispered, pressing a sloppy kiss somewhere near his cheek. The two of them hovered in the doorway, half-slumped against the wall. 

“You staying?” Michael didn’t even try to hide the hopefulness he felt. Brian shook his head. “Nah, I’ve got job interviews in the morning. You’ll jus’ distract me.” 

Michael’s eyes widened, and he forgot to keep his voice down when he spoke. “It’s fucking 4 AM, Bri. When’s your first interview?” 

Brian stifled a yawn. “9:30-ish.” 

“ _Fuck._ You dumbass, you shoulda told me. I’d’ve made us leave earlier.” 

“Mm, I already know which offer I’m taking.” 

Michael snorted. “How drunk are you? None of ‘em have made you any offers yet.” 

“I’ve got it all planned out,” Brian said, sounding impressively self-assured for a guy who was slurring his words and practically falling over himself. “Alright,” Michael said bemusedly, humoring him. A thought occurred to him. “You don’t have any flights to catch, do you?” 

Brian waved a hand at him. “Nope. I’m stayin’ in good ol’ motherfuckin’ Pittsburg.” Though he said it with no small amount of bitterness, all Michael felt was relief, coursing through him so rapidly that it made his head spin a little. 

“Thank Christ,” Michael whispered, throwing his arms around Brian’s neck. He’d spent the better part of the past year brooding over the possibility of Brian going off to New York to become a wildly successful businessman, and it was like a heavy weight had been lifted off his chest at the revelation that he didn’t plan on leaving just yet.

“Don’t cry, Mikey,” Brian said, pulling on a piece of Michael’s hair. “I’m not cryin’,” Michael said, hiccuping.

Brian scoffed, patting at Michael’s face uncoordinatedly. “Pathetic.” 

“I know, I know.” Michael dragged the back of his hand over the moisture on his cheeks and nudged Brian. “You need to get some sleep. Are you okay gettin’ home by yourself?” 

“I’ll manage without you somehow,” Brian said dryly. He broke away from Michael, straightened himself, and pushed the front door open. 

“Brian,” Michael blurted, making him pause in the doorway, half-turned towards Michael, whose stomach was suddenly roiling with nerves. 

“I had fun tonight,” Michael said in a half-whisper.

Brian’s face broke into an endeared smile. “ ‘Course you did. Let’s do it again tomorrow night.” With that, he clapped Michael on the shoulder and made his exit, shutting the door softly behind him.

Michael stood there for a moment after he’d gone, mentally playing back the events of the night and grinning widely to himself like a complete jackass, his body buzzing with a restless energy that only Brian was able to instill in him. 

* * *

 

Michael collapsed into bed sometime around 4:30 AM. He found himself unable to sleep, too wired from the night he’d had, thoughts of Brian flitting through his head one after the other.

He remembered that moment in the back room of Babylon, the expression on Brian’s face as he was getting his dick sucked. Michael slipped a hand under his sweatpants as he thought about it, warping the scene in his mind so that he was the one sucking Brian off instead, making him pant and moan and say Michael’s name in a choked whisper, his slender fingers holding Michael’s head in place as he showed him exactly how much he loved him.

Michael’s eyes were screwed shut, heat building in his groin as he imagined Brian coming in his mouth with a muffled cry, hauling Michael up to kiss the taste of himself off Michael’s lips immediately afterward, unable to keep his hands off him. 

 _Fuck fuck fuck fuck-_  

Michael came in his hand embarrassingly quickly.

He lay there in his own mess until his breathing rate went back to normal, tendrils of shame and self-loathing twisting through the awe he always felt when he dwelled on how lucky he was to be able to call Brian his best friend. 

* * *

 

Around noon the next day, Brian slid into the booth opposite Michael at the Liberty Diner, nodding at him in greeting. “How’s the head?” 

“Fucked,” Michael answered. “Yours?” 

“Feels like I got lobotomized with a rusty spoon.”

Michael grimaced, pushing away his plate of fries. Brian plucked a couple off the plate and popped them into his mouth.

“How’d your interviews go?” 

“Fine,” Brian said, his mouth full. “The first three were just a formality. The one that actually matters isn’t happening for a few hours.” 

“A formality?” 

“I need to be able to negotiate salary,” Brian explained. When Michael gave him a blank look, Brian elaborated, “If these guys try to shortchange me with their offer, I can come back and tell ‘em I’ve got three better offers from other agencies, and that they can fuck off if they don’t show me a bigger number.” 

Michael blinked. “Oh. That’s... "

“Aggressive?” Brian snagged another fry. “Maybe. But it’ll work.” 

“I wish I was even half as ambitious as you are,” Michael mused, propping his chin on his fist and looking at Brian admiringly. “I stock shelves at the fuckin’ Q-Mart, for Christ’s sake.” 

“Hey, don’t underestimate yourself. They’ll promote you to store manager before you know it.”

“Yippee,” Michael muttered. 

“Besides,” Brian said, “You don’t wanna be part of this hideously dull corporate slog. I’m only in it for the money.” 

Michael hummed, noncommittal. Brian slid out of the booth, his eyes laser-focused on an attractive long-haired guy across the room as he stood. “See ya, Mikey. I’m gonna go relieve some stress.” 

Michael rolled his eyes. “No idea how you can fuck with a headache this bad.” 

“I’m endlessly inspiring, I know.” 

Michael suppressed a smile. “Endlessly arrogant, is more like it.” 

“I’m not gonna apologize for knowing my own worth,” Brian said, in an exaggeratedly fussy tone of voice.

“Whatever you say, Your Lordship. Wanna meet up at Woody’s tonight?” 

“Sure. I’m hitting Babylon right after, though.” 

“Duh. So am I.” 

Brian grinned at him, reached over to pinch his cheek. “Ugh, stop that,” Michael said, swiping at his hand.

“Can’t help it,” Brian said, “I’m just so proud of you. Two, going on three nights of heavy drinking in a row, extra long lunch break without a comic book in sight- "

“Oh shit, I’m late,” Michael exclaimed, scrambling for his wallet. “Ma,” he hollered in the general direction of the kitchen, pulling a wad of bills out of his wallet and tossing them onto the table, “I’m heading out!” 

Michael ignored Brian’s muttered, “Blow my goddamn eardrums out, why don’t you.” 

Debbie’s frazzled voice rose over the din of cutlery clinking against ceramic, oil sizzling in frying pans, and diners chattering. “Well what the fuck are you waiting for, the valet?” 

“Love you too,” Michael said, pocketing his wallet and making sure he had his keys. He stood on his toes to give Brian a quick peck on the lips. “Good luck,” he told him, referring to the interview. 

“I don’t need it,” Brian said matter-of-factly. 

“I meant, good luck on fucking Thor over there in the bathroom. Someone’s puke is splattered all over the floor.” 

“Wait, seriously? Why hasn’t anyone cleaned it up?” 

“They’re understaffed today,” Michael told him, giving him a jaunty little wave and hurrying out to his car. 

* * *

 

“Do you ever feel like... you’re stuck?” 

Michael posed the question lazily, offering it to Brian along with the joint they’d been passing back and forth over the remnants of their dinner. Brian’s head was on his lap, Michael’s left hand automatically carding through his hair. 

“Can’t say that I do,” Brian said, exhaling smoke. 

“ ‘Course not,” Michael said, raising his eyes to the high ceiling of Brian’s brand new loft. “You’ve got the perfect life. Me, on the other hand... "

“Keep thinking like that, and you’ll be stuck forever,” Brian said bluntly, reaching an arm out to snag his now-lukewarm beer from amidst the circle of empty takeout containers. 

“Always with the positive affirmations, Bri.” 

Brian grunted. “Positivity’s for disingenuous pussies.” He leveraged himself into a halfway-upright position and drained the rest of his beer, his bare shoulder pressed against Michael’s side.

“Guess that makes me a pussy, then,” Michael said, “ ‘Cause I think I might’ve offed myself by now if I didn’t have my sunny optimism to keep me going.”

Brian burped. “You’re one of the most cynical fuckin’ guys I know, Mikey.” 

Michael prodded at his leg, scoffing. “I’m downright _rosy_ , compared to you.” 

Brian made a face at that, sat himself up further. “What’s up with you, anyway? It’s not like you to get all maudlin when you’re high.” 

Michael sighed. “Forget about it.” He leaned into Brian, shut his eyes and breathed him in. 

They sat there like that, huddled together on the floor of Brian’s place, exchanging verbal and physical jabs that were mostly good-natured. When they eventually started kissing languidly, their hands roaming all the while, Michael thought, _There are much worse things to be than stuck on Brian fucking Kinney._

**Author's Note:**

> I'm just posting these for myself at this point. :')


End file.
